


Impenetrable

by brucewaysne



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Drugs, Kinda, M/M, Sex Pollen, Smut, briefly though - Freeform, unsafe sex!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 16:46:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12214815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brucewaysne/pseuds/brucewaysne
Summary: Bruce is infected with some sort of sex drug, and his first instinct is to come to Clark. Luckily, in the end, they both get something out of it. Right?





	Impenetrable

**Author's Note:**

> idk man i wrote this at 2am and it's not proofread and i might have used two different tense in there but i'm too tired rn

« Oh, hey, I was just about to— »

Clark doesn’t to finish his sentence as his mouth is covered by another familiar, unusually hot one, crushing against him. A clever tongue slips past his lips in a practiced move, while hands move to cup his face and pull him harder against that mouth. 

« Mmf—» The Kryptonian manages before angry bites at his lips. Grasping Bruce by his arms to steady him, Clark chuckles when he get a look at his lover’s already flushed face. « Is everything alright? » He asks out of surprise, more than genuine concern.

« Yeah everything is _fine_. »

Not that he remembered wondering about this at some point, but at least now Clark can officially say that Bruce is fully capable of pronouncing the word ‘fine’ in an arousing way. Bruce’s voice is thick and layered and raw, and it travels straight to Clark’s cock.

« I’m in the mood for a fuck. » Bruce whispers in his ear, touching him again, in that tormenting way.

« No shit, » mutters Clark sarcastically, but he is ignored and his mouth is being invaded again. Bruce’s tongue presses up against him, and he feels so hot against him, Bruce’s skin feels so hot under his fingertips. It’s almost electricizing and Clark needs more. He allows Bruce to start rutting against him, _this is crazy, they’re in the Watchtower, they’re at work,_ a tiny voice says—but it’s tiny, Clark crushes it away. Against his lips, Bruce is already moaning, causing Clark’s grip to tighten around his frame as a wave of arousal washed through him.

« What do you want? »

« You, anything, your—your mouth— »

« Yes, baby, come here. » And Clark means to sit Bruce on the desk behind them but instead Bruce practically throws himself onto Clark, grabbing at him and kissing him, and when their lips touch, when they seal and when their tongues intertwine, it’s like something in Clark breaks entirely, or sparks alive. He is knocked off balance, completely transpired by the scent and the heat overwhelming him and it takes him a second to realize it’s _Bruce_. They’ve fallen to the ground and Bruce is grinding on top of him now, climbing up Clark’s chest clumsily like his body is incapable of carrying out the simplest tasks with how focused his mind is on _fucking_.

Before Clark’s eyes can even register anything, there is something, flesh covering his vision and—that’s Bruce ass in front of his face now. He wraps his arms around Bruce’s strong legs which are each on either side of his face, and when Bruce lowers his hips, Clark’s mouth automatically finds his hole and latches onto the entrance. He sucks greedily at the bud and feels Bruce’s body shiver on his in reponse, and Clark _needs_ more responses from the man. He grabs onto the thick thighs and forces them to spread apart, causing Bruce’s body to slide down further on his mouth.

Initially Clark takes his time, circling the ring with his tongue and then pressing it flat against the sensitive skin there, until the moans above him prompt him to accelerate his movements.

« Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck _yesss_. » Bruce wails, throwing his head back and frantically rocking his hips against Clark’s tongue. Clark’s tongue stuffed deep inside of him. « Fuck, right there. » He keeps moaning, and Clark can’t—doesn’t want to—do anything else but lick. 

He licks and licks at Bruce’s heat, coating them with his saliva and stretching them by pushing his tongue as far in as he can manage, twirling it and pressing it hard against the walls there. Clark grabs a handful of Bruce’s ass, massaging the cheeks with his hands and spreading them further so he can get better access to Bruce’s hole, meanwhile Bruce is just moaning, all in enthusiastic approval.

"Clark, _shit_." Bruce lets out, breathless and desperately holding onto the edge of the desk to keep himself from collapsing to the floor. Under him, Clark moans at the beautiful sounds coming out of his lover’s mouth and his fastly growing hardness with how turned on he is. « Clark, please! » Bruce whines again, pleading, begging, for Clark and Clark only and that’s all it takes for the Kryptonian to be pulling Bruce off him and flipping him over on his back.

He wastes no time in spreading the man’s legs, pushing them far apart and getting between them. The hunger in him growing and leading his actions, and with the way Bruce willingly cants his hips up towards Clark’s erection, biting at his lip and pinching one nipple — there is no doubt the desire, the pure lust is just as powerful in the man under him. 

Without warning, Clark roughly tugs Bruce’s naked, glowing body to him with one hand while the other holds his cock directed to Bruce’s hole, and in one swift pull, Clark is impaling Bruce on his cock. Bruce shouts at the brutal intrusion, and fuck, how he loves it, loves being filled, so full of this man’s gorgeous, thick cock. 

« Clark, Clark, C _lark_! » The billionaire chants, circling his hips, so unable to keep still as Clark starts moving inside him, and God, he needs him to go faster, just ram into him, carelessly. Clark doesn't even bother with setting up a rhythm, just thrusts forward with enough force to send Bruce’s head knocking against the floor a few times. 

« Jesus, Bruce, babe— » Clark grunts, increasing his thrusts. This is where he belongs, in between Bruce’s thighs, balls deep into the man, fucking him with such earnest it makes the billionaire lose all sense of phrases and coherency. 

Bruce gives up trying to latch onto Clark’s body above him, his legs always losing their grip from around Clark’s waist with how forcefully Clark fucks his through the floor, and instead just lets himself lay there, legs spread as far out as possible and arms limb at his sides, way past the point of being able to feel his limbs. He lets Clark take him, manhandle him however he sees fit, while he can do nothing more than whine repeatedly in pleasure, over and over as he just takes everything Clark has to give him.

When the familiar heat starts to coil up in his abdomen, Clark only increases in pace, pulling Bruce’s body off the floor with every thrust, just slamming in Bruce’s hole harder and harder. His mind, his body, his consciousness so far gone, he can't even hear Bruce’s moans anymore, all of him is entirely focused on the body underneath him and finishing, God, he is so close.

He is so close and he reaches out to—a brutally powerful hits him right in the face, knocking him over. Just as suddenly, a hand harshly grabs at his hair and throws him against the wall. The left side of his face burning, Clark recoils from the floor, sitting up in disorientation. He blinks and there is the bad end of what looked to be a trident pointed at his throat. Clark looks up to Arthur’s beyond pissed expression, still lost.

Rubbing at his forehead a few times, his gaze flickers past Arthur’s frame and he finds Diana kneeling down on the other side of the room, cradling a very much unconscious Bruce in her arms. He tries to crane his neck to see better—he hadn’t even noticed that neither of them had bothered to take off their clothes; he sees Diana gently pulling Bruce’s pants back on, and Rao, is that blood?—but Arthur presses the tip of his trident against his throat, pushing his head against the wall as he pins him with a look that just _dared_ him to move again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

A few hours later finds Clark impatiently pacing outside Bruce’s room in the medbay. His mind racing with memories of what had happened, what he’d done to Bruce, Bruce who had been in no state to properly give his consent. It’s haunting Clark, the realization that he had just used Bruce, proving to have been unable to recognize the unusual behavior in the man and take him to be examined. That is what he would have done if he hadn’t been so wrapped up in Bruce’s words, and his eagerness. If he hadn’t let his own uncontrolled emotions get the upper hand on him.

Clark’s head spins around as he hears someone come out of Bruce’s room. Leslie quietly shuts the door behind her, pursing her lips together before focusing her attention on Clark. Her expression is stern, and Clark braces himself.

« Clark. Bruce has been infected with… some sort of poison, or drug that caused a sudden full increase in testosterone, which is why he, well—» She looks down, unsure.

« Yes. » Clark cuts in, completely unfazed by the topic. After having had Diana and Arthur catch him fucking a passed out Bruce in one of the Watchtower’s rooms, there is little embarrassment left for him to feel towards anything else.

« Right. It seems the poison was transmittable through saliva, which is how he would have infected you as well… Um. Obviously the effects worn off much quicklier on you, which is why we let you go earlier than him, but he seems to have fully recovered now, so you can go ahead and see him. » She offers him a relieving smile that Clark doesn’t feel he deserve, but he smiles back anyway and thanks her nonetheless.

Inside the room, Clark finds Bruce sitting at the edge of the bed, studying his hands. He looks up when Clark approaches him, finding a seat next to him on the mattress.

« Hey. How are you feeling? » The Kryptonian asks softly, playing it safe. He has yet to find out if Bruce is upset with him, or how far he blames him for the incident at the Watchtower

« I’m fine. » Curt, determined, pure Bruce. Clark nodds, glad to see at least Bruce appears to be back to his normal self. That’s reassuring.

« So… »

« Don’t. » Bruce bows his head ever so slightly, shaking his head. He still won’t meet his eyes. « Just—don’t. Leslie told me. I infected you, it wasn’t your fault. » 

Clark thinks back to the blood he had briefly noticed on Bruce’s inner thighs. He swallows the lump in his throat and nods again, unable to find the words to say anything.

The silence stretches between them for a moment, both men looking out in front of them while Bruce’s words  hang in the air, between them. _It’s not your fault._

« Bruce, I’m sorry. » Clark says in the end, instead of repeating the words inside of his head once more. « I know you say—»

«  _Clark_ … » And Clark is caught off guard by the trim of Bruce’s voice. It sounds confident but smooth, so smooth and soft like velvet, almost like—

Bruce is standing up in front of him now, a discreet smirk dancing on his lips. He leans in and presses a kiss to Clark’s mouth, soft, too soft, and Clark stands frozen on the spot. He ought to be doing something right now. Getting up, telling Leslie maybe she miscalculated the time for the wearing off, that’s what he should be doing. Bruce kneels down in front of him and Clark’s breath catches in his throat. Bruce’s hands find the hem of Clark’s pants, unbuttoning slowly tugging the zipper down. Persistently, Bruce’s fingers press against the fabric of his underwear, before slipping inside.

_It's not your fault._

Clark shuts his eyes and lets him work.

**Author's Note:**

> clark wyd!!
> 
> (clark sweetie i know you're pure and good forgive me for writing you like this)


End file.
